A Very Private Plot (24 page)

“It is unlikely that anyone would sit in the chair of the General Secretary and then, one, slide open the drawer, and two, tug at the drawer from the base. There would be no need to tug at it until I bind it to make it stick. These simultaneous acts are necessary to cause the electrocution.”

There was a general silence.

Nikolai went on. “Pavel and I will leave the Kremlin together, and separate. From his mother's house, Pavel will telephone to Viktor, who will report to his contact that the plan has been consummated. That is vital. We do not know any details, but we must assume that Viktor's all-important contact has a cadre that will take the assassination as the signal to move for immediate reforms. Andrei and I will go our separate ways. No one of us knows the plans of any of the others. And that is as it should be.”

They were silent. The rain had stopped and the wood splinters in the fire continued to crackle.

“Perhaps,” Nikolai said, “we will one day all meet, in this … venerable building.” He smiled.

They gathered up their clothes. Nikolai started to leave, but stopped and embraced his fellow Narodniki, each in turn; then, wordlessly, each walked out toward the bus stop, at five-minute intervals.

CHAPTER 31

JUNE 1995

You checked it with Mitchell?”

“Yes. Yes sir.”

“And of course Dole and Moynihan and Boren?”

“I regret to tell you, Senator. Not only will they go along, that phone call made them happy men.”

“I need happy women too. Okay with Roberta, I assume?”

“Oh sure. Needless to say, the whole committee is for it.”

“Anything beyond thirty days begins to look like cruel and unusual punishment. But you know something, Arthur, I think the defiance by Blackford Oakes is in a funny way working for us. Sure, we're preparing to let him out of jail even though he won't testify—so theoretically he hasn't purged the contempt that put him in there. But the punishment imposed on him affirms the rights of congressional investigating committees. There are people out there, I have a feeling—Alice, for instance, feels exactly this way—who are thinking that, okay, so the great Blackford Oakes will not tell us what we want to know, even though we stick him in jail. So we let him out—he wins that one.
But
, we win the
big one
! By passing a bill that denies the Executive the authority to authorize covert activity. So that Blackford Oakes's keeping the secrets to himself, Cyclops especially, gets him—exactly where? So his secret is still secret—it'll come out one day, you bet. But his tactics, which were clearly designed to obstruct the legislation he opposes, will not be permitted to prevail. See what I mean?”

“I do, Senator.” Blaustein was a little put off by the disorderly thought of the orderly chairman. But it was momentary, surely. “I see what you mean. And you may very well be right.”

“Did you see the MacNelly cartoon in the paper this morning?”

Arthur Blaustein had seen it, but he pretended he hadn't.

“You remember that, protesting against the Mexican War, Thoreau committed an act of civil disobedience and they put him in jail. The next day Emerson visited him, spoke to him through the prison bars.

“‘
Thoreau, what are you doing in there
?'

“‘
Emerson, what are you doing out there
?'

“Well, you can imagine what MacNelly did with that. I'm the Emerson, and Oakes the Thoreau. The trouble is, with these funny cartoons, nobody submits them to any
reasoned analysis
. MacNelly is saying, in effect, that everyone who opposes covert action ought to be in jail, like Thoreau. Isn't that the plain meaning of what that cartoon says?”

“Well, Senator. Not
exactly
that. But I see what you mean.”

Hugh Blanton decided to drop it. He picked up the
Wall Street Journal
. “See this? The editorial that ends, ‘Somebody should engage in a little covert action and escort Senator Blanton and his dream team into the real world, but to accomplish that would require an effort on the order of a Manhattan Project or Normandy landing.'”

“Senator, the
Wall Street Journal
is on the wrong side of
every
issue, so why should you be surprised?”

“Well, that's true. Arthur. Let's quickly go over it, one more time.

“At two-thirty I ask for the floor. Gore's been tipped off to be in the chair, and the leak's got around about springing Oakes. I think we'll have a pretty full house. The senators want to be able to say they voted to let Jack Armstrong out of jail.

“So. At two-thirty I announce to the Senate that, speaking for a unanimous committee, I call on the honorable senators to vote to release Blackford Oakes from prison. We are not”—Senator Blanton was suddenly addressing the full Senate chamber, not just Arthur Blaustein, his chief counsel—

“We are not expunging the contempt of Mr. Oakes, fellow senators. No. We have made our point, that when a duly constituted committee of Congress seeks information on the basis of which it can most responsibly recommend a piece of legislation, we need—we are helped by—the cooperation of expert witnesses. We have made our point. Mr. Oakes chose an act of constitutional defiance. It is the judgment of the committee which I have the honor to serve as chairman that two insights have crystallized during the past thirty days. The first is that the integrity of the Constitution and of this body has been affirmed. The second is that the legislation sought by the committee majority by no means stands or falls on the basis of what one man, one civil servant who has worked many years for the Central Intelligence Agency—on what one man can contribute to the argument. It does not matter, really, what Mr. Oakes now does. What matters is that the United States guard against the corruption of the basic democratic practice of open covenants, responsible deeds, accountability.”

Blaustein thought it wise to break in. “But before you get into your bill, you'll let them
vote
on Oakes, won't you, Senator?”

“Oh yes. Of course. So I'll do that. ‘I therefore move that Senate Resolution such and such voted on such and such a day'—you have those citations in my manuscript, right?”

“Right.”

“So the vote is taken. It will be unanimous.”

“Not quite.”

“Why? Who?”

“Senator Wellstone loathes the CIA in general, and Oakes in particular.”

“What did Oakes do to Paul?”

“Senator Wellstone appeared with Oakes on the MacNeil-Lehrer show a few months ago, on the general subject of intelligence activity. Oakes's demolition of the senator's arguments was not covert.”

“Oh, yes. Yes, I remember reading about that. That was … incautious of Paul. It should have been I, not he, on that program. You need to know how to take care of yourself in this business, Arthur.”

“Yes, sir.”

“All right then, we'll have a virtually unanimous vote to let Oakes out. I will then say that I am introducing a bill to prohibit covert activity by any branch of government. I'll make the arguments, which are not difficult to make, and which appeal to the basic sense of decency of American legislators. I will then read the concise table of historical atrocities we've assembled—that will take, I figure, oh, twenty minutes—”

“More likely forty.”

“All right, forty. Then we'll do the historical bit, the long struggle against secrecy, et cetera—about fifteen minutes. Then I'll read a list of organizations backing us and Nobel Prize laureates—how many of them do we have lined up to support us?”

“Four hundred and thirty-six.”

“I didn't know there
were
that many laureates.”

“I didn't either.”

“Then I'll give them the final crusher: the enormous leverage imprudent acts can have in a nuclear age. And that's when I'll hit them with the Gorbachev bit. That he actually considered a nuclear demonstration strike, to the best of our knowledge, though we cannot pin that one down.”

“If anything will do it, that ought to.”

“Right. And we'll do the usual pleading against a filibuster. It won't work. We're going to have to win this one
after
a filibuster. All right. So we have to fight. The civil rights struggle took a hundred years. “We're prepared to give it a hundred hours—right, Arthur?”

“Right,” Blaustein said wearily. “Right on, Senator.”

CHAPTER 32

OCTOBER 1986

Seated in his office, Blackford waited patiently for Kathy to call back. She did so, an hour later. He listened.

“So that's the way it is?” Blackford's voice was grave.

After she replied, he said, “Well. Thanks, Kathy. I'll be in touch.”

The presidential rebuke ringing in his ears, he drove his car out of the space reserved for it and headed for Westminster, an hour's drive north of Langley.

He had arrived from Moscow late the afternoon before, had a long talk with Sally in Mexico and a few happy words with Tony. What exactly were his plans? He couldn't say, exactly, at this point …

Sounds like the old days?

Well, not quite, but there is something rather important … Yes, I suppose I
have
said that kind of thing before …

And then he tried to read the Sunday paper, but soon went into a fitful sleep. He must be at his office early enough to file his request for a presidential audience, a top priority.

He called Kathy at nine. He had driven the forty-five miles in the hour since her return call, had reached the little town of Westminster and driven onto the private driveway. In front of him now, at the end of the drive, was the modest white country house, beyond it the rose garden where, Blackford assumed, he would find Rufus, even at age eighty-five bent over his beloved, demanding flowers.

Indeed he was there. He stood up, not without difficulty. Blackford stooped down, picked up Rufus's cane and handed it to him. Rufus beckoned Blackford to walk with him into the house. One hand on Blackford's shoulder, Rufus walked slowly. They sat down in the screened veranda. Rufus called out for Micaela. She would bring them iced tea.

“You will have a sandwich with me in an hour or so?” Blackford said yes.

“It has been a while, Blackford. And I am ever so happy to see you again. Can I safely assume that you have a problem to discuss with me?”

“Yes, Rufus. A problem I swore to the principal I would not discuss with any living human being except the President of the United Sates. I am breaking my oath. But I think it would be worse—for all of us—to fail to take counsel with you.” Blackford looked down for a moment. “Maybe you won't mind my telling you, Rufus, this one has really got me down.”

Rufus took his glass from the tray, Blackford reached for his, and Micaela left them.

Rufus's voice conveyed a tenderness of feeling. “Black, let's start from the beginning, shall we?”

After the smoked salmon sandwich, the glass of white wine, and the lemon sherbet, Rufus was ready:

“Do you know, Blackford, Mr. Reagan is a very shrewd man. And he shows that shrewdness sometimes by simply refusing to think through the implications of a dilemma he's uncomfortable with. He does not want you in his office to tell him what is likely to happen to Cyclops and then to your young Narodniki—your Cyclops did let it slip that they are young … How pleasant, by the way, to come upon that sacred designation, after all these years. I was in my teens when the original Narodniki were in battle dress.

“
So
? So he says, in his uncomplicated way, that he will not see you until you have consummated his instructions.”

“That's not the word Kathy used. What she said exactly was, ‘The President says, Mr. Oakes, that he doesn't really think there's anything to talk about until you've carried out his instructions. If you already have, I'm authorized to give you an appointment. If not—not.' But I see your point. And as I've just finished telling you, I left Serge Windels in Moscow to try to track the Narodniki. I expect to return tomorrow. Maybe he'll have done that, though the odds are against it, which means—”

“Yes. Bolgin. —Cyclops, as you properly refer to him.” Rufus engaged now in one of his characteristic, legendary pauses. All who knew him knew not to interrupt him. Finally:

“Blackford, you have no alternative.

“You must first establish whether Serge has established who the leader of the Narodniki is and where he is, and can take you to him. If so, you plead with him, then threaten him. But if Serge cannot, you must go through Cyclops. And tell him that he has forty-eight hours in which to give you proof that the assassination is called off—or you will report him to the KGB.”

Report Boris Bolgin to the KGB
!

It was on the order of turning in Solzhenitsyn to the KGB. Blackford found himself needing to climb this ladder one rung at a time. So he asked specifically:

“What kind of proof would you settle for, Rufus, if it were you talking with Bolgin?”

“Only one thing would serve. The names, occupations, and addresses of the members of the Narodniki band. Otherwise he could deceive you.”

Blackford stood up. He felt an impulse he hadn't felt since that day in Berlin when Michael was shot while protecting Blackford from bullets intended for him. It was the impulse to be sick. Sick at the prospect of betraying—he would not permit himself to use a kinder word—a man of the same age as Rufus who had risked his life every day for six years for the same cause Rufus and he had fought for. And being prepared to do as much to the three or four or thirteen young men and women brave enough to risk their lives to advance the same cause.

But he reminded himself why he was here. It was because Rufus always knew to draw down the relevant perspectives. In 1952, Rufus had given serious thought to causing Blackford's fighter plane to explode in the air with Blackford at the controls, after the mission was done. His decision not to do so wasn't a manipulation of perspectives under the impulse of sentiment. Rufus's decision had been made only after he fully collated all considerations, one of them that Blackford, age twenty-six and marvelously endowed, would likely be a valuable asset to his country over a long period of time. Blackford came to know in the thirty years after that mission, during which he so often worked hand in hand with him, that Rufus suffered personal pain as much as anyone when pain was visited on friends of the West, and although he struggled for the most part successfully to shield himself from any appearance of a personal involvement with any of his colleagues, Blackford knew with the power of his senses that this wasn't so. Rufus cared. Cared, among others, about Blackford. But he would not allow the structure of his thought to be hostage to such priorities as Blackford himself would have constructed, if the priorities had been his to arrange.